


Commission: Ticklish Racism

by Ticklesforyou



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bondage, Comedy, Interrogation, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Tickling, Police, Racism, Racist Language, Teenagers, Tickle torture, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24078046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ticklesforyou/pseuds/Ticklesforyou
Summary: Warning: This story contains themes of racism between white cops and a black teen. This is meant only to be a silly, entertaining story portraying none of these characters or their actions as good. The views expressed by any character in this story do not reflect the views of the author. Even so, it is potentially highly triggerable, even by my standards. Reader discretion is advised.A young black boy is yanked off the street at night by a pair of racist cops convinced that he is up to no good and interrogated with tickling.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11
Collections: Commissions by Ticklesforyou





	Commission: Ticklish Racism

“So I said, ‘I don’t give a shit about how it looks in the movies. I see a donut, I’m eating it, so sue me.’” 

“And what did she say to that?”

“Oh, she just rolled her eyes and said something about me being a shit cop or something like that. That relationship didn’t last very long.”

It was close to midnight in X City. Two policemen sat in a parked car eating the stereotypical food in question and chatting idly to pass the time. They were supposed to be on patrol--and they had been--but after getting very hungry, they’d both agreed to pull over at a 24-hour 7-Eleven and grab some donuts. This particular area of the city was almost deserted at this time of night anyway; the people lived around here were rowdy and unsafe. Crime and gang fights were commonplace, so anyone sighted by the police at this time was considered suspicious, _especially_ the ones who _looked_ the part. For that very reason, people in this area were extremely cautious of police cars at nighttime, and the two lazy donut-eaters didn’t have much to do.

One of them, a man in his late twenties with straight black hair suddenly took note of a boy walking along the side of the road approaching the 7-Eleven. “Uh oh. There’s a black guy over there.”

“Damn. I was enjoying the peace and quiet.” His patrol partner, a red-haired man with glasses in his mid-thirties scowled, making no effort to hide his prejudice. “How old does he look to you?”

The first one shook his head and bit his lip. “Hard to say. Maybe… late teens? Early twenties? I don’t know, it’s too dark out here.” It was, as stated before, near midnight and the boy in question was wearing a hoodie. To be fair, the two policemen couldn’t really tell for sure that he was, in fact, a black man, but of _course_ considering where they were and what he was wearing he _probably was_. “What do you think he’s up to? Maybe he’s planning to rob the 7-Eleven?”

The red-haired cop shook his head with a shrug. “Robbery, murder, it doesn’t matter. No one out this late in this neighborhood is doing anything legal. ...Well, no one except us, obviously.” He put the keys in the ignition and started up the car, flashing the siren and driving toward the boy in the hoodie. The boy in turn jumped in surprise, clearly revealing his face to them for a moment before taking off in the opposite direction. “See? It’s always the same with these guys. We haven’t even said ‘Hello’ yet and he’s already making a run for it.”

“Three… two… one…” Suddenly the unknown person trying to run away tripped as his pants--a size too large and lacking a belt--slipped down around his knees. “Yep, teen or early twenties. They’re so stupid.” The dark-haired man chuckled as the police car pulled up alongside the run-away. “Yelling or gloating?” 

The man at the steering wheel shrugged as he parked the car. “Let’s go with gloating; he doesn’t look like much of a threat to me.”

The doors to the vehicle opened, and the black boy, with his pants just barely pulled up again, found himself flanked on two sides one way by humans and the other way by a wall and car. The policemen took their time walking over, not bothering to rush him yet. “Excuse me, sir!” One of them said, getting close enough to see the boy’s face--somewhere from 17-19 by the looks of him. “Mind if I ask what a… _fine_ gentleman such as yourself is doing out and about?”

“The hell is it ta you, man?” the boy responded, shrugging and shaking his head. “Ah ain’t done nuthin’ bad.”

“You ran; resisting arrest is a crime by itself.” It was the most round-about logic imaginable although the law does technically list resisting arrest as a crime, the fact that they’d had no reason to arrest him in the first place was still true. 

The unjustly accused man did nothing to help his case, though. “You white cops are full of shit! You gonna arrest me eitha’ way; ah’d rather take mah chances runnin’ than try to talk wit’ y’u a-AH!”

The police officer approaching from behind yanked the boy’s wrists behind him and pulled him over to the car with his companions aid, grabbing his sides in the process. “You have the right to remain silent, yada yada yada, let’s get you outta here.”

But the boy struggled and squirmed. At first the officers thought he was just being difficult, but… “Yo mahahan, watch whehere yo’re puttin’ yo’re hahahands!” That wasn’t it. Having his side squeezed, however accidentally, was tickling the teen.

One of the cops grinned at the other. “I think we just found our next source of information…”

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

Some time later, the black boy was locked up in a cell at the police station. It was quite an usual one too; the boy’s hands were locked in cuffs over his head and his ankles in stocks in front of him. It hadn’t just happened, of course; he’d been kicking and cussing the entire way. But this entire police force seemed to be complicit in these sorts of “questionably legal shenanigans.” No one came to stop the two who had arrested him without cause, and some even _helped_ them get the boy in the stocks.

Now he was just sitting there, quite bored, trying to ignore how embarrassed he was about having his shirt and footwear removed. After what must have been at least half an hour, the red and black haired policemen returned waving a file in front of his face. “Young Mr. Andrew Samson,” the older one said, taking a seat next to him. “17 years old, no previous record, but your family… Ohoho, you’re family is super dirty. And now you’re following in their footsteps; I’m sure they’re proud of that.”

“Shut the hell up, man.” The boy--Andrew--spit on the floor at the officers’ feet. “You think yo’re so smart diggin’ that up, doncha? Yeah, but I know who you are too. Mah brotha told me ‘bout you; Don and Dave the Dumb Donut Dudes. Dat’s what everyone calls you. Ya sit around in yo’ car eatin’ donuts and grabbin’ any nigga who passes by. I bet you two ain’t ever arrested a real criminal in yo’ lives.”

That ticked off the two cops. What Andrew said wasn’t completely incorrect--the fact that Don and Dave were the laziest members of the force was well known. But never arrested a real criminal before? This city was full of crime! They’d been punched, kicked, shot at, one of them almost got blown up by a bazooka before! And all of those criminals had been black people, just like Andrew and his family, so they felt owed a little downtime and payback every now and then. Was that so wrong?

So, now thoroughly annoyed, Dave, the older cop sitting next to Andrew, nodded to his partner and said, “I think that counts as disrespecting the law, don’t you? And it’s our moral and legal duty to dole out punishment. But he is still a minor, so we’ll have to use the _appropriate_ punishment for kids.”

Don nodded in response, while Andrew started yelling. “Ah’m a bigger man than you white people will ever be! Ah ain’t the one pullin’ dudes off the street and-AH! Ahahaha! Hey! Motherfuuuahahahaha!” But Don’s fingers cut him off. From where he was standing at the end of the stocks, he had full access to Andrew’s bare ebony soles. His hands wiggled up and down, scratching slowly over the entire length of the boy’s feet.

“Now,” Dave said, as the angry black boy struggled to contain himself, “I think it’s time to tell us what you were _really_ doing out there at midnight. Also, tell us everything you’re dirty family’s been doing: every gang they’re involved in, every black market sale they have coming up, all of it.”

Andrew swore in response, trying to hold in giggles all the while. But holding back was impossible; without knowing it Don had zeroed right in and Andrew’s most ticklish spot, and he wasn’t holding back. So Andrew struggled to look tough as best he could by demeaning the cops. “Whahahaht’s wrong wit’ y’u freheheheheheaks?! Arrrrgh! Ain’t this cruhuhuhuhuel and an’ unusuhuhuhual punishment or somethin’?” In point of fact, there was absolutely nothing legal about this, and both policemen were thoroughly aware of it. They just didn’t care, and frankly neither did anyone else in this thoroughly corrupt police force.

Don laughed at the boy’s struggles. “Not so tough now, are you? I’m barely even touching you!”

Dave joined the laughter, starting to poke at Andrew’s sides. “He ain’t no man. This ticklish and chubby? He’s just a little baby!”

The taunting and tickling continued over Andrew’s insistent protestations. Don’s fingers tested out various methods of tickling Andrew’s feet--poking, scratching, sliding, wiggling over the heels, soles, tops, toes. He was steadily making a list in his mind of what worked best, subtly so that Andrew wouldn’t catch on. Meanwhile Dave slowly and softly teased Andrew’s upper body, sliding his fingers over his stomach and sides and ribs and armpits _just_ enough to complement Don’s tickling without messing up his investigation. Then, once Don was done with his mapping, they switched roles. Dave started tickling hard--pinching and squeezing and scratching and digging--while Don slowed down and used his fingers only to remind Andrew that he was still there.

All the while, Andrew swore and cussed and called the cops any number of names--most deserved, some not, and some just weird. (Seriously, who uses “milk lover” unironically as an insult?) The two police officers only responded to the verbal abuse with demeaning teases, calling the boy a baby, a weakling, a fatty, and an orange juice drinker among other things. (There was a whole miniature argument over breakfast drinks in here, apparently.)

Finally the two policemen paused and let him have a break. Dave leaned over the panting, sweaty boy with a nasty smirk on his face. “Feel like talking yet? What sort of stuff is your family involved in. We know they’re up to no good.”

Andrew panted for a few more seconds before defiantly saying a mere three words. “Fuck you, man.”

The cops looked at each other with mock pity, shrugging and shaking their heads. “Then I guess that means it’s time for the good cops to go away and the bad cops to play.”

By now the two policemen had a very good grasp on where all of Andrew’s tickle spots were. Now the _real_ fun could begin. Don started lightly flickering his fingers under the boy’s toes--which was surprisingly effective--while Dave focused on squeezing Andrew’s sides rapidly. 

The boy burst out louder than he had thus far. “HAHAHAHAHA! YOU FUHUHUHAHAHAHAHA! STOHOHOHOHOHAHAHAHA!” Officially laughing too hard for him to get more than two words out, Andrew found himself shaking uselessly within the restraints as hard as he could.  
Dave started whispering taunts directly into his ear, making sure Andrew could hear over the sound of his own voice. “You’ve got all this ticklish fat! Thick black boy is ticklish on his chubby spot!”

“Tell him his toes are as ticklish as a little girl’s!” Don yelled over to Dave, and Dave obliged.

“Your toes are as ticklish as a little girl’s. I’ll bet they’d love the feathers. Do your toes love feathers? Would baby’s toes like some feathers?”

Andrew tried to protest that no, he did not want them to start using feathers on his toes, but he couldn’t say much. Instead he just laughed and squirmed about. But with Dave right next to his ear, that thrashing caused Andrew’s elbow to slam into his forehead.

“Ow!”

“Hahaha!”

Dave reeled back from the shock of the blow, while Don started pointing and laughing at his partner’s stupidity. A lump appeared on Dave’s forehead while he glared at his partner and half-mumbled, “Shut up and get the feathers.” Then transferring his gaze over to the bound prisoner, he added, “I’m going to make you regret that.”

“It’s ya’ own fault fo’ doin’ all this in the first place,” boy mumbled back, adding a “Stupid white guy” a few seconds later. 

Dave was in no mood to debate who was in the right here, not that he ever was. His forehead was throbbing; he’d shifted from having fun to being in pain, and hearing Andrew’s comment only made him angrier. His hands returned to the older teen’s sides again and squeezed vengefully. “We’ll see how smart that mouth of yours is after another three hours, chubby!”

Don, on the other hand, was thoroughly amused by all this and took his time opening up his little “toolkit” and pull out a pair of feathers. He silently held them up over his partners shoulders, making certain Andrew saw them before doing anything else.Then he slowly, lazily, playfully slid them around the boy’s toes, letting Dave’s wrath and his gentle touch contrast with each other.

The sensations mingled in Andrew’s mind and sent him into a longer laughing fit than any he’d had so far. He laughed so much in fact that… _“Hic!”_

The man attending to the boy’s toes doubled over with laughter himself when he heard it. “Hey man, do hear that! The little guy’s getting the hiccups!”

The second cop awoke from his anger as he listened for what his partner had noticed. And upon noticing it himself, the remnants of the dull, throbbing pain in his head were forgotten. “Daaaamn, that’s gotta be embarrassing. Baby boy’s got the hiccups now?”

“SCREWHUHUHUHUHU YOUHUHUHUHUHUHU MAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAN! _Hic!_ ” Andrew managed to squeeze out a retort, but under the circumstances, it didn’t sound the least bit threatening at all. It could easily have been mistaken as playful if the situation had been different.

“You know what I think?” Don said, bringing the feathers back up to bear against the squirming toes. “I think that he _likes_ being tickled. Just listen to that laugh? Doesn’t he sound so happy? And he still isn’t talking yet either; if he really hated it, he could just be a good boy and tell us what we want to know.”

Andrew shook his head wildly, but when the two officers tickled in tandem like this, he couldn’t find the lungpower necessary to verbally object to anything either of them said. He wanted to tell them to go make gay love somewhere and then take a permanent trip to hell, but he couldn’t even manage to say “Go.” And shaking his head, at this moment, conveyed nothing. They just passed it off as more struggling and continued with their taunts, not that it would’ve changed anything if they had understood.

“Indeed, I agree. In that case, we’ll just have to go… _harder,_ ” Dave said ominously, hinting that they still weren’t pulling out all the stops yet. Of course they weren’t. As far as the two cops were concerned, this was playing on easy mode. 

The pair of tormentors paused and allowed Andrew to catch his breath while preparing their next move. Don lifted up a pair of hairbrushes. Dave slipped on a pair of gloves covered in rough, tickly fuzz. And Andrew had to sit there and watch them do it. He tried to play it off by making fun of them, saying that Don’s hairbrushes looked like they belonged to some hoe and Dave’s gloves made him look like some kind of Micky Mouse mascot (which, honestly, given the shape of his hair, they kinda did). But that was all a very transparent bluff to hide the fact that he was shaking in the stocks. He could tell at a glance these tools would not be fun to experience.

The two cops didn’t react to his accusations. They taunted him with silent smirks, waving the tools around for a good long while. And then, finally, when it started to feel like the anticipation alone might cause Andrew to have a mental breakdown, the officers struck. “AHAHAHAHAHAHA! NNNNAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” The black boy quickly exhausted himself as the tools went about their work. His feet liked a soft touch as a general rule, but few people faced with hairbrush scrubbing can think it anything less than one of the most torturous ticklings known to mankind, and Andrew was no exception. Meanwhile, the prickly feeling of the gloves amplified Dave’s squeezing, pinching tickling and made the sensations on his upperbody feel more torturous than he could have anticipated.

Dave stared directly into the boy’s face and laughed at him. “Aww, whatsa matta’? Can’t take a little tickling? Big rough and tough boy can’t handle the tickling? Hehe, you’re just a big bundle of soft stuffing; no strong man here.”

“Give him the “brushie, brushie, brushie,” talk,” Don called over to his partner. “I can’t do it from over here; I don’t think he can hear me.” 

“Brushie, brushie, brushie! Big black baby can’t get away from the brushies!” Dave happily obliged his partner’s request, but the boy was laughing so hard, it was hard to tell if anything was getting through to him.

This continued for about three minutes, and then the cops gave Andrew a short break. They were only planning to give him about 30 seconds and then attack again, but before they could… “Wait, wait, yeah, okay, I was headin’ out to meet up for a drug deal, okay?!” Andrew dropped a bombshell.

Let us rewind our story a bit for those who have mistakenly believed Andrew to be an innocent victim in all of this. The area this boy lives in, the one these two cops were patrolling, was one of the most volatile, crime-infested sections of the city in daylight. The only reasons the nights were peaceful were because the city had severe curfew laws in effect for that area and the police force was on constant patrol at night. Technically, though, the law in question only applied to adults, so Andrew, being 17, was not violating it when Don and Dave arrested him. That just made him more suspicious, though, as a possible messenger for those looking to do dirty deals at night, and given his family’s history, that seemed highly likely.

Now let no one say that this in any way excuses the two police officers for their actions. At the time Andrew was arrested and all throughout their “interrogation”, there was absolutely no evidence that he had done or was attempting anything illegal. Don and Dave did what they did because they were racists; there’s no denying that. But in this city, racism on both sides was commonplace. Most black people thought white cops were evil, and most white people thought black people were criminals. These were accepted by each camp as basic truths, and that in turn made it difficult for someone like Andrew, growing up in that environment, to travel down any path other than one of crime and for Don and Dave, as police officers having to deal with it, to see any black man without immediately being on guard.

In this particular case, Andrew had apparently been dispatched by his family to negotiate a drug deal with another gang from outside the city. He was sent unarmed, as just a boy heading to a 7-Eleven, because that was seen as the simplest way to have him avoid suspicion. But Andrew panicked at the sight of the police car and tried to run away, and any possible chance of talking his way out of trouble with Don and Dave died instantly.

Having proven to themselves that they had indeed done a good job, the two police officers started metaphorically slapping each other on the back.  
“Well done, Officer Dale.”

“Indeed, you did a wonderful job too, Officer Drake.”

“Even yo’ _last_ names start wit’ ‘D’?!” Andrew cried out in surprise at this ridiculous revolation, but he had bigger problems to worry about when the policemen started to leave the room. “‘Ey, where ya goin’?!”

Don turned around with a wink. “Oh, you know, just to grab some supplies to help with taking down your confession.” And the door shut behind them.

Andrew was left alone for a long time, grumbling about how the donut duo’s names and title had too many “D”s for lack of anything better to do in the ensuing silence. He was worried about the looks on their faces and the tone of their voices as they left; he had this nagging suspicion in the back of his mind that this whole tickling thing wasn’t over yet. He tried to distract himself as much as possible by figuring out just how many “D”s describing Don and Dave he could string together in a row. “Don Dale and Dave Drake, the dumb, deluded, duncy, donut-devo’ring duo dun did a damn dank dance.” But while he was chuckling to himself for being so clever, the door opened once more and his fears were confirmed.

Don and Dave had returned with several more officers, none of whom seemed particularly put off by the sight of a boy in stocks in a modern interrogation room. The original two cops were now holding pens and notepads and had even put on pairs of glasses to make themselves look more intelligent. “Now, what were you saying about your family’s crimes? Please go into great detail.”

Andrew had decided a while back that he wasn’t going to say anything again, but finding himself surrounded by six more policemen, taking up positions around his highly exposed body, that decision was suddenly very unimportant to him. He blurted out every detail he could think of while the two idiots wrote on their notepads. They would not their heads and ask questions about certain things in clearly fake studious accents. Not all of the questions were on topic either; they asked things from who their family’s contacts were to what their favorite movies were. And mixed in among them were also questions about how ticklish they were, whether it ran in the family, what their worst tickle spots were and so on. And eager to avoid another tickling himself, Andrew blurted it all out, essentially selling out all of his family’s secrets. It wasn’t like he’d be able to hold it in if they started tickling him again anyway, so he might as well just get it over with.

When it was all done, Don and Dave turned around and had a “whispered” conference, making sure to utter phrases like “Yes”, “Are you sure?”, “I agree”, etc. loudly enough for Andrew to hear. Then once they were done “comparing notes”, they turned back around and as one, in a clearly rehearsed motion, they pointed to Andrew and said, “He lies! Punish him!”

The six police officers that had thus far been standing silently at the ready launched their attack immediately without giving the boy a chance to complain about how unfair this was. There was one policeman for each foot, holding them motionless with one hand while tickling with the other, and the remaining four attacked his entire upperbody from his tummy to his armpits. Andrew was thrown back into fits of laughter, cursing and begging but unable to do anything to escape. 

And standing off to the side watching, Don and Dave gave each other a fist bump. Technically, they couldn’t keep Andrew here indefinitely. In order to make his brief incarceration legal, they needed to write a report saying they’d actually caught him at the sight of the attempted drug sale. But that was fine. They had his confession now, so no one would question it. No one in this police force was going to talk about this to the higher ups. Andrew would spend some time in Juvenile Detention and then get released while his family was incarcerated and thrown in jail where the officers would have a very fun time with all of them.

**Author's Note:**

> This work was commissioned from me via my DeviantArt/Discord account. If you like what you see and want more--or if you don't like what you see and want something different--feel free to contact me and place a commission. Pricing is $5 for every 300 words. Full details on my DA account under the same username.


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